His name is Momoh Kamara
a brilliant mind, fresh from school
confident, driven
his future packed in a folder and a dream.
But they didn’t see that.
They saw Themne.
They saw North.
And whispered spy, problem, glitch.
“Wait for our call,” they said.
So Momoh waited
days grow into to months
hope rusted in the silence.
Four years, four heavy years
he chased a future that kept retreating
not because he wasn’t worthy
but because of where he came from
because of who they decided he was.
Those sad voices echo from every corner
From the faiths we hold
To the jobs we seek
To the stories of division we are told
This devil of separation
Carved in the sounds of our tongues
Etched in the scars on our faces
Is defined by the colour of one’s skin.
But what does division beget?
The denial of a brother’s colour
A fracture in the way we share our stories—
Aren’t they all choices we come to regret?
Tribalism and racism are like tragic comedy
False ideas are made to be believed
They build up slowly, line by line
Only to end without climax, in a dull senseless grief.
Look how fractured a people we are
The strong bond we once shared
Is no longer anywhere to be found
Except in the torment where we are bound.
We let an unknown concept
The babble of the tongue
The marks on one's cheek
Divide us, leaving our lives to reek.
Here we are still struggling
To stitch the patches on our lives
For a senseless war of tribes
Our kinsmen left to rot and die.
Have you ever wondered
That we are brothers born from the same earth?
Why should we be torn apart by birth
With tribal lines drawn in our blood so deep?
Once, we stood side by side
In unity, strength, and pride
Now, scared of our brothers' shadows
A bee hive on our every elbows.
Can we find a way to mend
To heal the scars and make amends?
To see each other with kinder eyes
And let the spirit of unity rise.
For in the end, we share one land
One future, one guiding hand
Together we can break the chains
And wash away these tribal stains.
I know a place where imperialism is hated
So much because majority people don't enjoy
From that system.The place is called,
"Africa"...Where many people praying for its death daily.
I know a place where racism is a popular song,
Majority people speaking about racism here and there
That place is called" South Africa." Majority big
Companies & farms own by some people of same race.
I know a place where tribalism is like musics.
Tribal conflicts rise most times in certain countries,
That place is called "Africa." Most masterminds
Of those conflicts and other troubles are outsiders
May 26/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored
by Edward Ibeh
Chosen tlitle: I KNOW A PLACE
I am judged even before
they get to know me by
the tone of my skin,
and tribal name.
even before I speak,
my fate has already
been decided,
my ethnicity announced it.
I am called by what I look like
not what I am,
judged by my tribal name,
judged by my cultural heritage,
judged by my mother's tongue,
I am called by what I look I like,
not what I am.
I have felt the sharp blade.
segregation by tribe,
segregation by ethnicity,
culture, heritage and language,
I have felt the sharp blade.
mine is not racism, it is tribalism.
and I have felt its sharp blade.
D/Dangerous
E/encouragers of division
F/frustrated with hatred
I/isolative
N/never believe in another tribe
E/ethnically hatred
T/tribalistic
R/ready to isolate
I/ignorant of unity
B/bad to other tribes
A/always ready to fight another tribe
L/Living to die for his tribe only
I/ignorance of love
S/so full of hatred for other tribes
M/may be one day he will still die in hatred
We sow discord,
Yet we're thirsty of peace.
We chant war,
Yet our ears call for euphonia.
Racism infests our world;
Tribalism invades like malaria.
Although we have diverse languages,
With love there is no barrier.
We attack the weak,
And leave them with dysthymia.
We hunt strangers like Tiger,
And replace euphoria with dysphoria.
Oh children of Adam!
We are one family.
Do away with xenophobia,
And put on xenophilia like a regalia
We are Adam's progeny,
But we separate ourselves from each other.
We are no more our brother's keeper;
Like Cain, we are diabolical.
Xenophobia feasts on our heart;
No sympathy for strangers.
We chew hate speech in the home;
We utter hate speech on media.
We look down on other race;
We must have forgotten Pangea.
Superiority complex spawns slavery;
It is psychological.
The disease of the strong is racism;
The disease of the weak is xenophobia.
Shut your door against tribalism,
And seek refuge with xenophilia.
I sit here always trying to make sense
of the beautiful world that surrounds me.
The sunlight just dazzles, spring leaves are dense
on the trees, in their fluttering seem to be
dancing on the season's arbitrary breezes.
What I don't understand and must question
is the flaw in our makeup that seizes
on each other's frailties, with cold intention
we murder each other in the streets.
In current history a tribe, once slaves
with smothered dreams, violence greets,
from another's fears of lost privilege, like knaves.
We are so sharp of tooth and red of claw
and so at odds with the beauty of Nature's law.
Some people in the world,
they ask them selves
why they suffer a lot,
when others enjoy its joy.
Really it's right,
and i can't oppose at all,
because it,s common
where leaders are greed,
and think themselves
to be above the law.
One time i tried to apply
for a job but they rejected me
because i wasn't a
of the officer in charge.
I just went back home
to fetch water for sale
for my family to live.
Oh! tribalism is death.
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